Conspiracy
by Last-Summoner
Summary: Set during the Cold War. In the snowstorm in Russia, Alfred got stuck with Ivan in a certain circumstances that weren't very hopeful. In fact, everything seemed very hopeless. Blood, violence, cursing. Russ/Ame
1. Chapter 1

It was only November, but, as far as Alfred could see, in Russia everything has already been covered in snow. Literally, figuratively – all he could see walking down a Moscow street was white; snow twisting and curling in its flight under the will of a blizzard's wind. Cold pieces of frozen water, mercilessly hitting everything that stood on their way. As he moved forward he could see only faint silhouettes of houses somewhere ahead and several first meters of the road in front of him. He wondered how Russians are able to simply find their way home in such weather. Such a cold country. Cold country in a Cold War, huh, what an irony.

Russia called him in the middle of the night (it was not that late at his place, though) and asked him for a visit. They've been through a lot of official visits already, but this time Russia asked Alfred to be alone.

- Please, I don't want all that stunned faces in front of me again. Only you, - his tone was childish, as always, anticipating, - I have something to show you.

- Sure, - shrugged America, and Russia gave out a soft laughter, as if he could feel his interlocutor shrugging, - how's the weather in Russia? Should I bring an umbrella?

- The usual weather. Just fine.

Alfred cursed. Just fine, eh? His glasses had frozen the first several minutes he spent outside the hotel, so he had to take them off.

The wind wasn't very strong, though, but America managed to get his hood full of snow, it got under his jacket, melting unpleasantly on his skin, making him shudder feverishly. He could no longer feel his face, and rubbed his stunned chin only to find it pricking painfully, as if it had been needled. He cursed again under his breath, his words instantly transformed into vanishing clouds of heat. He tried to hide his face in his furry collar, but it didn't help at all.

- You nasty Russian snow, - murmured America.

- I'm sorry, you're… - rustled a familiar voice behind him.

America nearly jumped from surprise and quickly turned at the sight of a man appearing from the whiteness. His pink scarf flied in the wind, getting tangled with his hands; his hair was just as bright as the snow around. He smiled a wide (a little unnatural) smile at Alfred.

- Oh, America, it's you! What a coincidence! I was just walking home to prepare everything for your arrival.

America couldn't help but shake more watching his enemy. This conversation wasn't as official, as so many previous had been, and somehow, all the other people (bosses, diplomats and others) nearby gave him a feeling of safety. Not that feeling had gone, vanished in the blinding sea of snow. Not that he was afraid, not at all, heroes know no fear! It was just.. a little uncomfortable.

He forced a smile in answer.

- Russia, what a surprise (it sure was)! Nice to meet you.

- I'll walk you to our meeting point then, - said Russia. He quickly reached America's hand and took hold of his elbow.

- You are shivering. Are you cold?

- N-no… I mean yes, but it's nothing…

Russia smirked and (it was unexpected) started to undo his scarf. Each movement revealed more of pale, smooth skin, and America licked his lips, saliva freezing on them.

- I don't really need that, you'll be cold… - said Alfred, rejecting a possibility to take something from his enemy.

- _No, you **do** need it, - _said Ivan unexpectedly harshly, but then added in his high childish tone, - I'm used to this weather.

Russia moved closer and gently wrapped America in his scarf, fixing it the way he himself wear it.

- You look like a present. Beautiful box with a ribbon over it. I wonder when I can open you, - said Ivan, tightening the scarf and throwing its sides to cover Alfred's shoulders.

- You're speaking strange things, - said Alfred, embarrassed.

Ivan gave out a soft giggle. He grabbed America's elbow again, firmly, and walked him down the street. The scarf was warm from his owner's breath, and it were small drops of water stained on it's inside, where Ivan's mouth touched it. America pretended to fix it to wipe the drops away.

* * *

- So, here we are! – said Russia, turning the lights on. They were in a small apartment, nearly as big as a tenth of Russia's mansion.

- I thought you lived in a… bigger place, - said America, puzzled.

- Oh, it's just a rented flat. I didn't want anyone to bother us, even my friends that live with me.

"Your friends, huh", - thought America, undoing his coat. But when he was about to take the scarf off, Russia stopped him with a quick gesture.

- No, please leave it on. It suits you, - he said in a quiet, intimate tone of voice, as if revealing a secret.

- I think that we should do the business first, so we'll have plenty of time for ourselves, - smiled Russia and grabbed America's arm. They walked through a short corridor, to one of the rooms. Russia opened the door – it was dark inside, and Alfred instinctively backed of a little (this reaction drew another giggle from the other). Russia let America's hand go and clicked the lights on.

Alfred gasped, involuntary bringing his hand to his mouth.

The room was absolutely empty – no furniture, only thick curtains on the windows. In the center on the room there was a man, sitting on a chair. His head was hanging to his chest weakly, but he didn't fall, and Alfred noticed that he was tied to the chair. Blood was dropping from his chin, marking his torn shirt.

- Please come in, America, - said Russia, ready to close the door behind them.

... **tbc (I hope) **...


	2. Chapter 2

- Please, come in, - said Russia, smiling a welcoming, reassuring smile. America didn't want to (honestly), but he still stepped into the room. It was small indeed, small and dark, giving Alfred a hint of claustrophobia.

Russia closed the door behind them.

- What's this all about? – asked Alfred. Ivan walked to the man (he has taken his boots off when he entered the flat, so his steps were soft and quiet) and stood behind the chair, hands on it's back. His smile stained his face like and old coffee round on the dining table… no, more like blood on an old chopping board. The dim lights of the only bulb made Russia's smile frightening and even more artificial.

- I wanted to ask you what is this, America, - he said. The question stunned Alfred.

- Wh-what do you mean?

- I mean what is this, America? – Russia's tone had imperceptibly changed. Something appeared there, something dark. The smile remained as he grabbed man's hair and lifted his head up. Prisoner's face was covered in blood, as if someone threw a balloon with red paint at him. His nose (turned on the side at a strange angle) was no doubly broken, blood oozing from his nostrils. His eyelids fluttered as he emerged from unconsciousness, moaning. A trace of saliva mixed with blood and fragments of his teeth trailed to his chin and neck to join the other dark stains there. The whole picture made America want to vomit. He gasped.

- Usually the KGB catches them, but I managed to get this one myself, - said Russia, sounding like a proud child showing his 'A's to his father. America moved away from them, his back hit the closed door.

- Who is he? – he muttered. He immediately wished to repeat it, but in more heroic tone of voice.

- Well, nearly the same question I've just asked _you_. _Twice_, - Russia shook the captive's head violently. Blood came running from man's right ear.

- What is that, America? What is that? – Ivan repeated over and over, pulling at the man's hair so hard he was about to tear his head off. Man moaned again, opened his mouth in a grimace of pain. He was clearly missing several teeth.

- Gosh, I don't fucking know! – exclaimed America.

- It's one of your spies, America! Can't recognize it? So you have so many of them in my country you don't remember all of their faces? – Russia sounded victorious, smile on his face became so wide he was showing the tips of his teeth, perfectly lined and white. Like snow. America noticed he's been referring to the "spy" like to something inanimate - "it".

- I d-don't know what you're talking about… - said America quietly. His boss always told him to deny everything when it came to accuse… or was it a lawyer in some cheap movie he'd been watching?

- Then I guess you don't care if I kill him or not, - said Russia, taking a gun from his coat's pocket all of a sudden (Alfred wondered if he was really caring a gun in his pocket all the time). He hit the man's head with its handle, making blood flow from his ear even stronger. Man sharply cried out in pain, but his voice was husky. He's cried too much already. His gaze, full of suffering, lay upon America as he tried to speak. Russia cut it off by hitting his head once more, making it move convulsively on the side.

- Stop this, Russia! We should talk! I don't want you to kill him! Why did you think he's a spy in the first… - Alfred was sharply silenced by the sound of the shot. It happened so quickly and sudden he wasn't able to react. Man's head burst from the inside like an overripe watermelon. Blood spilled everywhere, flowing on the floor, marking the walls. Drops stained on Alfred's shoes (he wished he'd followed Russia's example and took them off at the entrance) and on Russia's scarf.

America found his hands firmly pressed to the wall, fingers tense as if he tries to clench it, cling to it, as if it could help. He was shivering.

- You're shivering again, - stated Russia worriedly (fuck, that worried tone sounded almost sincere), - you're still cold? You should drink some vodka.

- Why did you do that? – America suddenly suffered the lack of words. He numbly watched Russia taking off his blooded coat and swinging it carefully over the chair with the dead body still in it.

- That's war, - he shrugged, sounding almost philosophic.

- You… you've just killed this man to… fuck, just to show me the war? – America's voice rose to yelling. He wished he knew curse words stronger then "fuck".

Russia looked at him, disappointment in his gaze.

- You didn't understand anything, did you? – he asked.

- What the hell was I supposed to understand you fuck, you bastard, you…

- That's enough. Go calm yourself down. Bathroom is down the corridor, - said Russia calmly, his smile at last fading. America smashed the door open and rushed from the room, leaving the other alone.

Ivan slowly looked the room over and clicked his tongue.

- Kakoi bardak, - but smile once again touched his lips, - Nu, po krainei mere on priehal navestit' menya.

* * *

**_Translation of the last line:_** _What a mess. Well, at least he came to visit me._

_**Hello there! **I hope this chapter came out fine. I'll at last **start the romance part of these in the next chapter, **so I hope you'll be looking forward to it. And please **review! Reviews are love, they keep me writing=)**_


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